Draco Malfoy had found a new way to spend his evenings. He stared at himself in the mirror until the night seeped in through his window and engulfed him, so much so that he couldn’t see his reflection anymore. Draco was vain, but that was not the reason he spent so long gazing at himself in awe. He did it because in the last seven years, his appearance had changed to such a great extent he was almost unrecognisable. His astonishingly white-blonde hair had lost its slicked back, greasy touch. It was now chin length and floppy, his shaggy fringe nearly obscuring his granite eyes. His skin was as pale and translucent as ever, but it was now coated with milky, healed scars that ranged from his forehead to his ankles. They were long, thin and jagged - as if someone with piercing nails had dug them deep into his skin and roamed freely around his body. He was no longer skinny and frail-looking; his long, lithe limbs had bulked up significantly and his arms were muscular and toned. Draco also now stood at a towering six feet and appeared, if possible, even more intimidating.
This evening, he had been staring into the looking-glass for at least two hours. It was steadily growing darker, and he could barely make out his faint silhouette. This was Draco's favourite time of day; the time where he could stare at himself and not be repulsed by his appearance. Pity was not one of Draco’s favourite feelings, and yet that was how he had spent the weeks of his summer; indulging himself in self-pity, vulnerability and broodiness. He silently traced the offending scars, wincing slightly as his long fingers grazed the cool, raised wounds. Sighing bitterly, he sank down onto the chaise-lounge and covered his face in his hands. He had been sitting in this position for a few moments when there was a gentle knock on the door. He did not move.
“Draco, are you in there?” Narcissa Malfoy’s cool voice came from outside. Draco lifted his head out of his hands, but he did not reply. He sat there, waiting. He knew his mother would come in anyway.
“Draco, answer me!” Narcissa’s voice bore impatience. After a spilt second of silence, she flung open the door, her wand aloft. She stopped when she took in Draco’s susceptible appearance, and slowly lowered her wand. Without another word, she swept gracefully over to the chaise-lounge and sat herself down next to her son. They both sat in silence, carefully gazing in different directions. Eventually, she slowly draped her arm around Draco’s shoulders. He flinched slightly, but did not attempt to remove her arm. There was another billowing silence, but this time it was interrupted.
“Draco, you can’t keep doing this to yourself,” Narcissa said softly. He didn’t trust himself to answer with an even voice, so he didn’t. Instead, he examined quite thoroughly a deep grove in his palm that had not healed like the others, but remained an angry red. She sighed and ran her fingers through her long, glossy hair.
“You’re going to have to talk about it someday, Draco.”
When he did not reply, Narcissa took a deep breath.
“Your father wouldn’t have wanted you to be like this.”
She instantly knew that she had crossed the line. Draco’s eyes flashed dangerously as he stood up so suddenly she nearly fell off the chaise-lounge.
“DON’T TELL ME WHAT HE WOULD HAVE WANTED!” he bellowed furiously, but his eyes were glazed over with a web of unshed tears.
“Draco, no, shush, please, I didn’t mean…” Narcissa tried desperately.
“DON’T TELL ME TO BLOODY SHUSH! YOU DON’T KNOW WHAT HE WOULD HAVE WANTED!”
“Draco, he would have wanted you to be happy!”
He pinched the bridge of his nose as he tried to steady his heavy breathing; he had completely lost control, and it couldn’t happen again. He stared at his mother, who had tears pouring silently down her cheeks and felt an uncomfortable pang of guilt in his abdomen. But he had no time for remorse. He considered resuming his previous position on the chaise-lounge but decided against it and stood.
“Mother, he spent most of my life trying and unfortunately succeeding to make me miserable. He made me do things I really didn’t want to do,” he said resentfully, absently rubbing his left arm. He looked straight into her eyes. “Please don’t insult my intelligence by pretending he wanted me happy.”
Narcissa wiped away the stem of tears with the cuff of her robes.
“Draco, I’m not going to lie. Your father wasn’t a great many things, but he was a good man when it came to his family.”
Draco snorted derisively. “Yes, forcing your family to join The Dark Lord's forces does make you a prize family man.”
Narcissa shook her head sadly.
“Please, Draco. I can’t argue about him. I just can’t.”
He sighed and sat down next to his mother. She gave a great, shuddering sob and leant against his shoulder. He patted her head gently, making soft soothing sounds. They stayed like this for a few moments until Narcissa raised her head gingerly.
“Well, Draco.” She smiled in a brave attempt at cheerfulness. “It doesn’t matter; Hogwarts in September.”
For the second time, he jumped up so abruptly she nearly fell.
“You can’t be serious, Mother?” he asked in astonishment.
Narcissa looked puzzled.
“Of course I am! Last year certainly didn’t count.”
Draco shook his head vehemently.
“I’m not going back there, Mother.”
Narcissa stood up too.
“Draco, don’t be ridiculous! Of course you’re going back! You need to finish your education!” she snapped, her hands waving dramatically.
“I did finish my education!” Draco hissed.
“Did you do your N.E.W.T.S?”
“Well, no, but…” he trailed off.
“What are you going to do without your N.E.W.T.S, Draco? Open a joke shop like the Weasley double-act?”
“Well, no, but…”
“Draco, please think about this. Money’s not going to get you everywhere.”
“I know, Mother,” Draco snapped. “I’m not an imbecile.”
Narcissa shook her head. “I never said you were, Draco. You’re incredibly intelligent, actually. That is why I don’t want you to waste your life.”
Draco moved away from her and stared out of the window, but he couldn’t see anything outside. He heard Narcissa gently walk up behind him. She placed her hand on his shoulder.
“Please, Draco. You’re all I have left.”
He recoiled as if burned from her touch.
“Always the blackmail, Mother.”
He left the room without a backwards glance, shutting the door deftly behind him. He heard his mother succumb freely to tears and felt the familiar guilty ache in his stomach. After all his mother had done for him, he hated to repay her this way. But he couldn’t go back to Hogwarts. There was nothing for him there. Absolutely nothing.
Reflection by Nitwit Blubber Oddment Tweak x
Chapter Notes: This is our first insight into the changes in Draco, both physical and mental.
Chapter Endnotes: Reviews are unbelievably appreciated - even those of constructive criticism :)